One, two, three

When she met him for the first time in a wedding, he caught her eyes. When she met him for the second time in a party, she started having questions. And when she met him for the third time in a funeral, she knew she had to get him out of her mind.

Sanity

He: Are you seeing anyone?

She: no, not at all.

He: Why?

She: Trying to keep my sanity as long as possible.

He: Then don't make me your boyfriend.

She: Why not?

He: To keep your sanity.

She: And who said I want it.

He: You just did!

She: I need it only if I'm on my own, but with you I don't need it.

From Rimbaud

He would say,'How funny it will all seem, when I'm not here anymore, when you no longer feel my arms around your shoulders, nor my heart beneath you, nor this mouth on your eyes, because I will have to go away someday, far away...' And in an instant I could feel myself with him gone, dizzy with fear, sinking down into the most horrible blackness: into death.

Revelation

On her Sixtieth birthday and after forty years of marriage, two sons and a daughter, she realized that she has been a mother but she has never really been a wife. She has been a human being but she has nver really been a woman. She has been living but she has never really had a life...

Of The Human Heart!

In his great play, A Street Car Named Desire, Tennesee Wiliams questions the human heart and how straight it is by saying "What is straight? A line can be straight, or a street, but the human heart, oh, no, it's curved like a road through mountains"

I look in myself, I look around me, I hear stories, I come across people and I read books... All I can get out is that the human heart is nothing but complicated. Either it is your own experience or someone you know, a story shared by your friend or written in a gossip magazine, a plot of a movie, play or novel or even what we read and study in psychology text books, the human heart still is totally different than what they all say!

Doctors say that the human heart is a pump that distributes blood to all the organs, but the human heart is not an organ, and not merely a blood manager, it is a living organism that in turn controls the whole human being. And in doing so, it doesn't follow rules or logic, it doesn't usually work for the benefit of the person and in many cases it actually works against him. It is our manager! Without rules, without logic, without anything we can measure or regulate, we just surrender to that tyrant inside us and most of the times we are happy with this slavery.

An old wise saying says "Who would give a law to lovers? Love is unto itself a higher law" And obviously the heart follows its own law. A friend of mine is drawn irresistibly to a person when every sense says that they cannot be together, another is telling me she is deeply attracted to a person she doesn't even like, I know people who can't get over a person that hurt them beyond human tolerance and I saw how cruel people can be with the ones they loved the most. I saw how love can end a life and can start one, can build and destroy and can humiliate and honor.

Tell me about rules, let's talk logic forever, let's blame this and mock that, when you fall in love, when the heart really takes over, nothing else is heard...or seen.

في حب مصر وعاصمتها الساحرة

قاهرة أنت كما سماك القدماء

تقهرين أهلك لا الغرباء

جثة تتحلل تفيض قبحا

وتحيطني بأبغض الأشياء

أمقتك مقتا لا يعرفه البشر

أكرهك كره النار للماء

وحين أرحل عنك لن أنظر خلفي

فليس ينظر خلفه الا من يريد البقاء

Stolen Painting, Stolen Life!

The only van Gogh in Cairo is stolen!!! As simple as the 6-letter-word "stolen".

Cut from its frame by a knife, under the eyes of lazy staff, inefficient security system of non-functioning alarms, switched-off cameras and an invalid minister with pathetic declarations; just another small part of a highly retarded system in one of the lousiest governemnets of one of the most corrupted regions of the world!

It's not just a great work of European art of which very little is found in Egypt, it carries a part of my life in it.

I won't vent out my anger here and curse the fact that I am still living in this country, I stopped doing this long ago. I'm seeing in this story something more than the scandalous incident.

The painting is gone but the frame is still there, the same young boy who had this unplanned, hurricane-like and life-turning encounter is gone, but his frame is still there. The path that was taken on that day is still there, and will always be there, with or without the painting. the painting was stolen, but no one can steal a life. And even if lives can be stolen, memories cannot!

Confusion (2)

Nothing gets on her nerves like his presence. But she misses him when he's not around!

Confusion!

After realizing that she was choosing a man who doesn't love her back over a man who does, she really doesn't know if "love" exists...

A Letter from A Woman in Love!

In reply to Mermaid's post:

My Love,

I also saw some white hairs in your hair few days ago and I thought the same. I only had one question on my mind; why do I love you that much, where does all this love come from? Why do I always love you more?

Yes, my love we are growing old together, growing closer, and each time I think I've reached the end of my capacity for loving you I just discover another horizon, another territory that I haven't stepped in yet, and I just fly like a butterfly attracted by your light and I vanish into your existence, and I love you more...

It seems that it will never end and I will never stop loving you. Yes, they say that it dies by time, that the passion disappears with the repeated existence and that time makes the love fades away like the early morning mist fades away with the powerful sun rays, but no, it doesn't, and I keep wondering why? An unsolved riddle that logic and previous experience stand so small against, and I love you more...

I watch you reading the newspaper, with a frown on your face and rays of concentration radiating from your eyes. I come from behind you and bury my face in your coarse hair. You turn around and look at me, telling you a piece of news with a furious face and angry tone, newspapers always make you angry and you never stop reading them! I try to participate but you don't even give me the chance, you get back to your reading and I feel stupid, but I love you more...

You get out of the shower wrapped in a towel, dripping all the way to the bedroom, I dry the drops of water wishing I can keep them with me, they have been on your body and fell on the floor, they should have fallen into my heart, into my soul, watering that mysterious tree that I don't even know where it exists, I just know it is there, and I love you more...

You leave the bathroom drowned in water, the basin is full of your hairs and the shaving foam, your clothes thrown carelessly on the floor, I clean everything wondering why is it difficult for you to allow some more water in the basin to wash away the hairs, and why you never put the clothes in the laundry basket. I pick them up and hold them close to my face inhaling that peculiar smell left by your body on them, I'm glad you didn't put them in the basket, I love your smell and I love you more...

I wake up at night and you're not beside me, I know you will be working on your laptop and I am jealous. I go to you and my sleepy face, my undone hair, my needy look and the semi transparent night dress works perfectly, I know how to drive you crazy and take you from the deepest absorption, and I love you more...

And when there is a football match you are someone else, you sit on the floor very close to the TV. You neither recognize me, your phone, the loud noise of the AC or the door bell. I keep waiting for the goal to have your squeezing hug, you're strong, you squeeze me and kiss me passionately as if I were the player who got the goal, and I love you more...

And in the supermarket, you grow impatient, and you insist on coming with me, you get angry when I pass by the same shelf many times, you keep telling me "honey it is just Yogurt, they are all the same don't believe TV ads, yogurt is just yogurt", you get mad when I spend time reading the labels, and making sure of the expiry date "I can't believe you, it's Metro, they will never sell expired products!", I love your self confidence and extreme trust in yourself and your choices, and I love you more...

We drive in the traffic, you get nervous, you're tense, you keep teaching people what to do and not to do, you try to be gentle with women and pedestrians, women's driving gets on your nerves but you hold your curses, you know I won't like that, and I love you more...

We go to this restaurant and the waiter doesn't take his eyes off me, even when you're ordering he looks at me, you get mad, you're rude to him and after he leaves you tell me in a harsh tone "Could you please not talk to him and tell me when you want something, I will order it for you, I will knock him down if he looks at you again" I smile, and I love you more...

I love you for your jealousy, for your arrogance, for your criticism and your protection, for making me feel silly and naive and for making me strong and proud, for driving me crazy with your stubbornness and your chaos, for your fights with me and the way we make it up, for your angry look that scares me and your smile that lights my world, for making fun of my cooking and admiring my plans, for the look of desire in your eyes and your naughty comments in my ears, for loving me, for being mine. And for being yourself, I love you more...

Now I know, I know that the riddle and the answer is you...

Yours

M

The Pearls Are Just A Mile Away!

"it was someone who knew me well. Well, but not just knew me; it’s someone who truly cared! Someone who went the extra mile to make me happy, who actually gave it some thought and exerted effort to get me this gift..."

Quoted from Mermaid, my dearest friend, describing an anonymous birthday gift from me.

This is the best thing that touched me positively in months, after a considerable time of depression and feeling really down for all kinds of reasons, making one of the dearest persons to my heart, a real woman that I admire and look up to and cherish our friendship so much, making her that happy was itself a blessing :)

Happy Birthday my dearest Mermaid, the precious pearl-like tears that I made you shed mean the world to me (pearls were believed to be the tears of Mermaids in the ancient legend),and your beautiful heart that saw some happiness from my "simple" gesture deserves much more.

May we always stay that close and may I always be a source of your happiness :)

Tribute to Saramago

A young boy was spending his summer vacation at his grandfather’s house far away from the capital. Suddenly his grandfather fell sick and had to be transferred to the hospital, but before he was taken he did something very strange:

"He went into the yard of his house, where there were a few trees, fig trees, olive trees. And he went one by one, embracing the trees and crying, saying good-bye to them because he knew he would not return. To see this, to live this, if that doesn't mark you for the rest of your life, you have no feeling."

But it did mark the young Jose Saramago for the rest of his life, made him a writer, a political activist and the finest Portuguese writer of his generation.

Jose Saramago (1922-2010) was born in Azinagha, a small village in Portugal and although he was a clever pupil his parents were not able to afford his education and he had to work as a car mechanic at the age of 12, a period that made him close to the laboring community and shaped his political inclination towards communism, he joined the Portuguese Communist Party in 1969 and gave away his religious believes to be an atheist.

Noticing his intellectual talent, he worked as a journalist and translator and started wring and publishing novels in 1947, but his recognition did not come until the year 1982 when his novel Memorial Del Convento won the PEN club award Portuguese and started to attract attention to his style. The novel is a love story set in one of the major tourist attraction in Portugal, the Convent of Mafra, where the two lovers interact with each other and with famous historical figures.

In 1991, he published a very controversial novel titled O Evangelho Segundo Jesus Cristo or The Gospel according to Jesus Christ, in which he portrays Jesus Christ as a human being with flaws, passions, and doubts, including a love affair with Mary Magdalene. The book gained public success and was immediately translated to many languages while provoking the rage of the Roman Catholic Church that accused Saramago of having anti-religion views.

Magical Realism became the most prevailing theme in Saramago’s works, in addition to his characteristic language, very long sentences (sometimes more than one page long) and surrealistic plots which continued in his novels like The Stone Raft, where the Iberian Peninsula breaks off Europe and sails on its own across the Atlantic, Death At Intervals, which tells the story of a village where no one dies, and Blindness which tells the story of a story where a mysterious blinding disease strikes its people.

In 1998 Saramgo won the Nobel prize in Literature for his body of works, he was genuinely shocked announcing that:”I was not born for all this glory”

Saramago was an avid critic of the European Union and the state of Israel. In 2002 he visited Ramallah, where he compared the Palestinians to the Holocaust victims, a statement that resulted in him being condemned by many intellectuals and he was accused of Anti-Semitism. In one of his newspaper articles he wrote:

"Intoxicated mentally by the messianic dream of a Greater Israel which will finally achieve the expansionist dreams of the most radical Zionism; contaminated by the monstrous and rooted 'certitude' that in this catastrophic and absurd world there exists a people chosen by God and that, consequently, all the actions of an obsessive, psychological and pathologically exclusivist racism are justified; educated and trained in the idea that any suffering that has been inflicted, or is being inflicted, or will be inflicted on everyone else, especially the Palestinians, will always be inferior to that which they themselves suffered in the Holocaust, the Jews endlessly scratch their own wound to keep it bleeding, to make it incurable, and they show it to the world as if it were a banner."

On another occasion he pointed out that:

"The Jews are unworthy of any more sympathy for their sufferings during the second World War. Living under the shadows of the Holocaust and expecting to be forgiven for anything they do on behalf of what they have suffered seems abusive to me. They didn’t learn anything from the suffering of their parents and grandparents”

Yesterday in Lisbon, Saramago’s funeral took place; he died last Friday and 20,000 people participated in his funeral but with the absence of the right-winged Portuguese president who was vacationing very close to the capital. Many of Saramago’s works are banned in Portugal.

أم خالد

خالد...انت هنا يا حبيبي... انت ما متش... لا... انت لسة عايش... أنا أكيد بحلم... أيوة انت لسة عايش وهتدخل علي كمان شوية... وهتيجي... وهشوفك تاني... هبوسك واحضنك وأسمع صوتك وأشوف وشك... وشك؟ يابني... يا حبيبي... ازاي عملوا فيك كدة؟ ازاي جالهم قلب؟ ازاي ما صعبتش عليهم؟ عملتلهم ايه؟ ليه موتوك؟ ليه؟ طب... كانوا عملوا أي حاجة تانية وسابوك ما هما قادرين على كل حاجة. ازاي جالهم قلب؟ ما عندهمش ولاد؟ ما عندهمش اخوات؟ ما عندهمش قلب؟ ازاي جالهم قلب يمدوا ايدهم عليك؟ دمك وهو في ايديهم ما هزهمش؟ وصوتك وانت بتصرخ ما وقفهمش؟ و وشك... وشك اللي زي القمر ازاي عملوا فيه كدة؟ هيناموا بالليل ازاي؟ هياكلوا ويشربوا ازاي؟هيعيشوا ازاي؟ طب كانوا سابوك تعيش كانوا عملوا أي حاجة وسابوك تعيش يحرموني منك ليه؟ يا حبيبي يا ترى حسيت بايه؟ ندهت علي؟ ندهت على أمك؟ أكيد ندهت علي زي ما كنت بتنده علي لما الموجة تيجي عليك وانت صغير... أكيد ندهت علي وما لقتنيش... ما لقتش حد. يا ريتني كنت معاك... يا ريتني كنت بدالك... ياريتني أنا اللي اتضربت واتقتلت بس انت لا... يا ريتني كنت معاك... كنت حوشتهم عنك... كنت ما خلتهمش يلمسوا شعرة منك...كنت موتهم بايدي قبل ما يلمسوك. يا رب.. ليه أنا؟ ليه ابني أنا؟ ما الدنيا مليانة والبلد مليانة اشمعنى أنا؟ اشمعنى ابني أنا؟ وليه ولادهم يعيشوا وأنا ابني يموت؟ يا رب دة ظلم وانت مش ظالم... انت مش ظالم صح؟ طب لما انت مش ظالم سايبهم ليه؟ وسبتهم يعملوا كدة ليه؟ طب فهمني وأنا هسكت... والله هسكت ومش هتكلم ولا هعترض... بس فهمني ايه اللي بيحصل. طب رجعهولي تاني... والنبي رجعهولي تاني... مش انت قادر على كل شيء؟ طب رجعهولي وخدني بعد كدة بس أشوفه تاني.. أخده في حضني تاني... احضنه ولو خمس دقايق... طب دقيقة واحدة... دقيقة واحدة والله ...أشوفه بس... أشوف وشه قبل اللي عملوه. والله ماكنت اعرف انه هيحصله كل دة... والله لو كنت أعرف ما كنتش سيبته ثانية واحدة... ما كنتش أعرف انك هتسيبهم يعملوا فيه كدة... أنا ياما دعيتلك تحفظهولي وتباركلي فيه ماسمعتش ليه؟ سبتهم ليه؟ سبتهم يعملوا فيه كدة ليه؟ ما منعتهمش ليه؟ وسايبهم يقولوا عليه كدة ليه؟ وكله ظلم وانت عارف انه ظلم. أنا مش عارفة أعمل ايه... أكره مين؟ أكره البلد اللي سايبة ولادها تتبهدل؟ ولا أكره الناس اللي ما حدش منهم حاش عنه؟ ولا أكره الزمن اللي الناس بتتقتل فيه في الشوارع في عز الضهر؟ ولا أكره نفسي عشان ما كنتش معاه؟ أروح فين؟ أمشي ازاي في الشارع اللي اتقتل فيه؟ أخطي ازاي على دمه؟ أدوس ازاي علي التراب اللي اداس فيه؟ أنا مش عايزة أعيش... خدني زي ما خدته يا اما تجيبلي حقي من اللي قتلوه... وريني فيهم وفي ولادهم اللي عملوه في ابني. يا رب... انت فين؟ انت فين بقى؟؟؟

Oscar Wilde And The Love That Dare Not Speak Its Name!

The glorious nineteenth century was about to say a smooth farewell to the world, but on the spring of the year 1895 in England, the high class society was on fire, the cultured society was biting its nails in anticipation and the secret underground societies were forced to get back into their dark hidden places. On April 26th 1895, an Irish man who belonged to the high class and the cultured society was being prosecuted for committing one of the most obnoxious crimes in England… at that age. Although the man had one of the most renowned lawyers defending his case at that time, Sir Edward George Clarke, when the judge asked a question referring to something mentioned in one of the man’s letters and was augmenting the charge against him, he asked to answer the question himself. Let’s see how this part of the trial went: Judge: In your letter you mentioned the love that dare not speak its name. What is “the love that dare not speak its name”? Man: "The love that dare not speak its name" in this century is such a great affection of an elder for a younger man as there was between David and Jonathan, such as Plato made the very basis of his philosophy, and such as you find in the work of Michelangelo and the sonnets of Shakespeare. It is that deep spiritual affection that is as pure as it is perfect. It dictates and pervades great works of art, like those of Shakespeare and Michelangelo, and those two letters of mine, such as they are. It is in this century misunderstood, so much misunderstood that it may be described as "the love that dare not speak its name," and on that account of it I am placed where I am now. It is beautiful, it is fine, it is the noblest form of affection. There is nothing unnatural about it. It is intellectual, and it repeatedly exists between an older and a younger man, when the older man has intellect, and the younger man has all the joy, hope and glamour of life before him. That it should be so, the world does not understand. The world mocks at it, and sometimes puts one in the pillory for it." The eloquent speech and the biblical, historical and artistic references he used did not help to clear his charge and a month later, Oscar Wilde (1854-1900), one of the great authors in the history of English literature and the author of great plays that mock the British aristocracy like An Ideal Husband and The Importance of Being Earnest, in addition to one brilliant novel that is considered a masterpiece of English literature, The Picture of Dorian Gray, was sentenced for two years of imprisonment with hard labor for the charge of gross indecency. His secret love affair with Lord Alfred Douglas (1870-1945) that was discovered, exposed and submitted to court by Lord Douglas’ father was the cause of his imprisonment for homosexuality. At that time, Wilde was married and had two sons. While in prison, Wilde wrote a letter in 50 000 words for his lover describing his suffering in the prison, reflecting on his own life and what lead him from the luxury of the aristocracy to the darkness and loneliness of a shameful imprisonment. He starts his very long letter with the following words: Suffering is one very long moment. We cannot divide it by seasons. We can only record its moods, and chronicle their return. With us time itself does not progress. It revolves. It seems to circle round one centre of pain…For us there is only one season, the season of sorrow. The very sun and moon seem taken from us. Outside, the day may be blue and gold, but the light that creeps down through the thickly-muffled glass of the small iron-barred window beneath which one sits is grey and niggard. It is always twilight in one's cell, as it is always twilight in one's heart. And in the sphere of thought, no less than in the sphere of time, motion is no more. The thing that you personally have long ago forgotten, or can easily forget, is happening to me now, and will happen to me again tomorrow. Remember this, and you will be able to understand a little of why I am writing, and in this manner writing. . . . He then starts to blame himself in a very touchy piece where he says: I must say to myself that I ruined myself, and that nobody great or small can be ruined except by his own hand. I am quite ready to say so. I am trying to say so, though they may not think it at the present moment. This pitiless indictment I bring without pity against myself. Terrible as was what the world did to me, what I did to myself was far more terrible still… I used to live entirely for pleasure. I shunned suffering and sorrow of every kind. I hated both. I resolved to ignore them as far as possible: to treat them, that is to say, as modes of imperfection. They were not part of my scheme of life. They had no place in my philosophy. He ends his letter by facing the fact that he is to be banished from society for ever. Society, as we have constituted it, will have no place for me, has none to offer; but Nature, whose sweet rains fall on unjust and just alike, will have clefts in the rocks where I may hide, and secret valleys in whose silence I may weep undisturbed. She will hang the night with stars so that I may walk abroad in the darkness without stumbling, and send the wind over my footprints so that none may track me to my hurt: she will cleanse me in great waters, and with bitter herbs make me whole. Wilde was not allowed to send the letter but he took it with him and after his release in 1897, he submitted it to publishing under the title De Profundis (Latin for “From the Depth”) After his release, he had a religious awakening and he asked for the membership of a catholic community but was refused, something that devastated what remained sane in him and he decided to live incognito and in a chosen exile in France where he stopped writing and only produced a poem titled The Ballad of Reading Goal (the prison where he was kept) which was published under a pseudonym, among its very memorable lines: Some love too little, some too long, Some sell, and others buy; Some do the deed with many tears, And some without a sigh: For each man kills the thing he loves, Yet each man does not die. Wilde died of meningitis* in 1900 after being united with his lover against the wish of friends, families and community. On the epitaph of his grave in Pere La Chaise cemetery in Paris, the following lines from his last poem are written: And alien tears will fill for him Pity's long-broken urn, For his mourners will be outcast men, And outcasts always mourn. The following are very useful links about Wilde and the full texts of both works mentioned above. http://www.online-literature.com/wilde/ http://www.gutenberg.org/etext/921 http://www.emotionalliteracyeducation.com/classic_books_online/rgaol10.htm *Meningitis is an inflammation of the membranes surrounding the brain and spinal cord, it is caused by many factors like some kind of bacteria, overuse of some drugs and migraine, but sometimes it occurs without a specific reason.

Another Spring!

من أين؟

لا تنتقد خجلي الشـديد .. فإنني بسيطة جــدا … وأنت خبير .. يا سيد الكلمات .. هبني فرصة حتى يذاكر دروســه العصفور .. خذني بكل بساطتي ..وطفولتي أنا لم أزل أصبـــو ..وأنت كبيــــر . أنا لا أفرّق بين أنفى أو فمي في حين أنت على النساء قدير .. من أين تأتى بالفصاحة كلهـــا.. وأنا .. يموت على فمي التعبيــر أنا في الهوى لا حول لي أو قوة إن المحبّ بطبعـــه مكســــور . إني نسيت جميع ما علمتني في الحب فاغفر لي وأنت غفور يا واضع التاريخ .. تحت ســريره يا أيها المتشاوف المغـــرور . يا هادئ الأعصاب ..أنك ثابت وأنا ..على ذاتي أدور ..أدور .. الأرض تحتي دائما محروقة والأرض تحتك مخمل وحرير .. فرق كبير بيننا يا سيدي فأنا محافظـــة .. وأنت جســـور وأنا مقيّدة .. وأنت تطيـــــر .. وأنا محــجّبة .. وأنت بصيــــر .. وأنا .. أنا .. مجهـــولة جدا .. وأنت شهير .. فرق كبير بيننا .. يا سيدي فأنا الحضارة والطغاة ذكور .. من شعر سعاد الصباح وغناء نجاة

من قصة لم تكتمل

و لتبقى دوما في قلبي... محفورا بداخلي كما حفر أجدادنا المصريون تاريخهم العظيم على جدران المعابد القديمة... شامخا كأهرام مصر تتحدى الزمن... صامدا كنيلها الخالد تنثر الحياة في جنبات نفسي كما ينثر الحياة في أرضها... تضيء كوني كشمسها الساطعة... تجرفني كرياحها الحاملة عبق الاف السنين فأنسى من أنا... تبتلعني كصحرائها الشاسعة ولا أجد نفسي الا معك يا صحرائي وواحتي... وبين ذراعيك تتحدد معالمي وأرى خارطتي وأعرف طريقي... ولتبقى دوما أجمل الناس... يا كل الناس...

Another Beautiful Face

For him, she is just another beautiful face that will need some more time to be in his bed. For her, he was the world...

Pain

He always complains that she keeps her troubles to herself. He never understands that sometimes talking about the pain hurts more than the wound itself...

Perfume

His wife couldn't understand why he got mad when she washed his blue scarf. It was the only thing that carried the perfume she used to wear before they got married.

Unsaid!

Only one word from her could have made him cancel all his plans and stay. Only one word from him could have made her say the word he had been waiting for.

The Answer

He asked her "Are you really happy with me?" She looked in his eyes and said "Yes... yes I am" It was the first time she ever gave him a clear answer.

The First Night

She asked him "Do you remember our first night together?" Genuinely shocked, he asked her "It's the first time I hear you talk openly about our intimate rela..." She ignored his comment and interrupted him saying "It was the only time you carried me!"

Absurd!

He said "So it is really Egypt! They are building the Goddamn wall!". She said "I can't believe she's finally getting a new home". It was their 37th anniversary.

Postponed!

They have been sitting silently for an hour, starring at their empty cups. Suddenly he said "I don't think I can live without yo..". She didn't wait for him to finish the word, she said "Neither can I!".

I do!

He looked at her with his deep green eyes. Rays of piercing light radiated from his eyes into her. She looked down feeling the hot flush of blood on her face. He didn't say a word and he didn't ask her any question. Without saying a word she stole a quick look at him that said "I do".

Unforgiven!

She could have forgiven him for the slap, only if he ran to her and took her in his arms when she fell on the floor.

A Hug!

He was lying beside her in their bed, asleep, deeply asleep. She moved closer to him and placed his silent arm around her body. She only enjoys his hug when he is asleep.

A Story Without A Start!

She saw his number on her mobile screen in the middle of a hectic work day; it has been almost two months since they have last met. Close friends they keep calling themselves in their personal conversations, online chats and in front of common friends and everyone. The major differences in their characters and in the way they view things can make them nothing but rivals, but his fiery nature that only her smooth understanding and high tolerance for the other could sooth made them close in a way, nothing more than friends, or so she thought until she got his call.

***

- Her: Finally you are in Cairo, man I pity your family, are you ever gonna settle down a bit?

- Him: No never, you know me better than anyone, put me in one place more than two weeks and you will lose me forever.

- Her: My God, it’s not even getting better by age, is it?

- Him: Nope, never. So tell me, what have you been up to?

- Her: Nothing much, work, work and work, it has been stressful lately

- Him: Yeah, as if it has been better before, have you ever been free since you started this business?

- Her: Actually no, you are right, but at least I’m around, a phone call away, unlike those who spend most of their time in airports.

- Him: Ok someone is talking about me, well, I’m in Cairo this week and probably the week after, what are you doing on Tuesday after work of course?

- Her: Nothing, I don’t think I’ve got anything after work .

- Him: What about dinner?

- Her: Sounds great.

- Him: Ok, so we talk again on Tuesday to confirm time and place.

- Her: Perfcet! At last we’ll get a chance to talk, it has been so long I miss talking to you, I need the energy you induce in me with your flamboyant stories.

- Him: Yes, and I need to tell you some news.

- Her: Tell me, another promotion?

- Him: No, actually I’m dating.

- Her: Really!

- Him: Yes, I think it’s serious, anyway I have to go, will tell you all about it when we meet. Take care

- Her: Bye

***

“A lump in your throat

A cold hand squeezing your heart

Something you’ve never thought

Why are you torn apart?

Yes, you care about him the most

But you will never go for the dart

The happiness he has always brought

Can make your life a work of art

But in his life you cannot get caught

You know you’ll never be his part

Wasn’t this what you’ve been taught?

If you can’t end it then don’t start ”

***

Monday evening. An unsent message saved in the drafts folder of her mobile phone:

““I know it sounds crazy but...I think I feel jealous! I don’t have any reason or explanation for this, I know you see me as boring, naïve and depressing, and I know we didn’t promise each other anything but I can’t help it, I just can’t” ”

***

Tuesday morning. A message from her:

““I’m sorry I won’t be able to make it today, A friend of mine is getting married in 10 days and needs me for some errands, I’ll be busy till the wedding, sorry dear. Take care and good luck with your date” ”

El Masriyeen.... Rag3een!

Do you remember songs like "Mashya El Sanyoora", "Ya Mama Setto", "Mate7seboosh ya Banat" and "3'anno Lel7ayah" that we used to listen to when we were children, with their funny lyrics, cheerful music and the amount of energy and life they used to inject in us whenever we listened to them? They all belong to El Masriyeen band that was filling the radio and TV with their music and lovely songs in the Eighties, lead by the composer Hany Shenouda and many members as musicians and singers with lovely voice. Yesterday I had the chance to attend their first come back concert in Cairo that was held in Wekalet El Ghoury in old Cairo. Listening to their songs I suddenly went back to when I was 5 or 6, and recalled how I loved their songs and used to knew them by heart and laugh my heart out with their funny clips. Now, 25 years later I was surprised to see myself still remembering the lyrics by heart, singing with the music without missing a word and getting back that same old feeling of pure, absolute, unconditional and untouched happiness that only children could feel. The performance was great, the whole band members are so down to earth and I felt as if I knew them already for so long, they were not just singers and musicians doing their job, they were friends, family, relatives. It was obvious that they all have a magical harmony with each other, and whenever Hany Shenouda speaks it is of the simplest, sincere and sweet words, I simply loved the man and his work. He was still on his very same old place on the keyboard, sending passionate looks of love and support to every single member on the band, giving full credit to all of them that I felt he is more of a loving father than a band leader. I couldn't help but going to him after the concert, and over a sincere hug and pair of kisses I thanked him for bringing me back those wonderful feelings that I thought were gone for good and for showing me that happiness can still come in something as simple as a song that is carfeuly written, composed and performed with lots of passion and talent. The band now has three very talented young singers, Fady, Afaf and Ayman who are just sweet and lovely, I couldn't take my eyes off their lovely faces that were hosting unremovable sweet smiles even after the concert ended. After a very long clapping session and a friendly chat with Hany and some of his lovely team, I went back home driving my car in the streets of Cairo and suddenly things seemed better, I didn't mind the dirty buildings, the ugly streets, the chaotic traffic or the people's attitude, for my heart was elsewhere and my ear could hear nothing but the happy music and lovely voices. That was exactly how I felt when I watched "Mamma mia" the musical that kept me happy for days and that I kept it in my list of antidepressants and happiness-enducing things :) Now El Masriyeen band will give their next concert in El Sakia on Wednesday Nov 18th, so I strongly rcommend that you go and get back some of that wonderful time that we all lost for growing up and living in this crazy life.